


Catch and Release

by kronette



Category: Red Dwarf
Genre: M/M, Prompt Fill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-28
Updated: 2015-12-28
Packaged: 2018-05-09 21:46:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5556611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kronette/pseuds/kronette
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>RoseCathy gave me the prompt: 'Lister worries about getting old.' Sorry, but there's not a drop of fluff in this one. </p><p>Rimmer couldn't go on like this. Neither of them could go on like this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Catch and Release

**Author's Note:**

  * For [RoseCathy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RoseCathy/gifts).



Rimmer bit his lip as he heard the sound again. The slow, shuddering inhale and half-quiet, shuddering exhale. That dismal, tired sigh had dotted the late-night silence of their quarters for weeks. It had replaced the irritating snores as Rimmer's most-dreaded sound, as it reaffirmed Rimmer's most profound failure: keeping Lister sane. 

Oh, Lister was as sane as anyone who was the last of their species could hope to be; of that Rimmer had no doubt. It wasn't Lister's sanity that haunted Rimmer's nights, it was all the other emotions that Rimmer couldn't begin to understand. He was intimately familiar with failure, loneliness, misery, anger, irritation, annoyance…not a positive emotion in the lot. Yet he knew, even without Kryten's motherly nagging, that Lister needed more than angry words flung back and forth between them to stay sane. Lister needed encouragement, support, hope, a purpose and meaning to his life. 

Rimmer had no smegging idea how to offer any of those things to Lister, because he'd only experienced them once: on board _The Enlightenment_. The resulting pain, heartache, loneliness and longing had driven him to beg Holly to wipe his memory of Nirvanah, but the smegging computer had botched it up, leaving Rimmer with memories of sexual escapades but not the feelings associated with it. To him, his days with Nirvanah were nothing more than the sexual exercise that all of the crew were required to have. Tennyson was a lousy git; it was _terrible_ having loved and lost, especially when you _knew_ that you knew what it felt like, but it was jumbled beyond all attempts at recovery. 

Above him, another indrawn breath and another miserable exhale. Sigh number fourteen. Lister couldn't go on like this. Neither of them could go on like this.

=-=-=-=-=

Rimmer gave his usual jeering, jaunty morning prodding, but Lister lay abed, telling him to go away. It wasn't even an angry yell, just a softly mumbled, "G'way, Rimmer," that cut him to the bone. 

Everything within him stilled as Lister rolled over to face the wall and pulled the blankets up to his neck, effectively cutting himself off from further comments. 

Rimmer stared at the dreads hanging off the edge of the bunk, as limp and lifeless as the man. He hadn't noticed before, but there were a few strands of gray shot through Lister's hair. He found himself picking them up and draping them against Lister's back, tucking the edge of the blanket up around Lister's shoulder. His knuckles caressed the curls at the back of Lister's head before he let his hand fall away. He drew in a shaky breath, holding it until he was outside of their quarters before releasing it in a painful sigh. 

=-=-=-=-=

Lister's voice was unsteady as he quietly called out, "Rimmer?" He'd swear on his stash of comics that Rimmer had stroked the back of his head with his fingers. It was the oddest sensation—not the caress, but that Rimmer had initiated it. Rimmer didn't touch him unless a regulation required it or Rimmer needed to remove one of his hands or boots from something. 

No answer. Lister rolled over and saw he was alone in the room. 

Alone. In deep space. Past the prime of his life and heading into that dreaded middle age that most Earthers paid good money to make go away. He didn't trust the Medibot to trim his nosehairs; he sure as smeg wasn't going to ask it to suck out his belly fat or to zap away the lines around his eyes. They were laugh lines, yeah? Only he couldn't remember laughing all that much lately. 

Sighing, he slid down from the upper bunk and shuffled to the coffee machine. He stared at his reflection in the highly-polished chrome, wondering when he had gotten old and tired. Space travel was meant to be done on a ship of hundreds, not with a crew of four. No new people, just the same three faces day in and day out. No chance to find new mates. No chance to meet a stranger and fall in love. No variety, no unexpected conversation, no new vids or games to distract him from the echoing _alone_ that had been chasing his arse for almost half of his life. Smeg, this far out in deep space, they'd been lucky to find the insane droid Hoagey to give them the occasional distraction, but even that was wearing him down. One could only pretend to do a battle across time and space so many times before it became as boring as watching the All Paint Drying Channel 394. He knew. He'd watched it for 34 hours straight before Kryten had found him and forced him back into the drive room. 

Monotony. Drudgery. Tediousness. Ennui. He'd been so bored that he'd looked up synonyms to express the levels of boredom he was experiencing. He couldn't go on like this. If only…

He shook his head and took a sip of freshly brewed coffee. No point in traveling down roads that had been demolished over a decade ago. Whoever had said that it was better to love her and lose her, rather than never love at all, obviously never had their heart shattered to bits by a woman leaving them. 

Lister picked halfheartedly at a muffin that Kryten had made the day before, arranged on a plate with other muffins and pastries that Kryten had used to try to coax him out of bed. His stomach whined at the lack of food and he brought the muffin to the table. For every crumb he rolled into his mouth, he dropped one into his coffee, watching as it absorbed the liquid. 

It was several quiet minutes later when he realized he was being watched. Looking up, he caught Rimmer staring at him. He blinked slowly, wondering at the odd expression on Rimmer's face. It wasn't pinched in annoyance that he was making a mess on the table. It wasn't twisted in a scowl that Lister was sat at the table still in his long johns. Rimmer's features were softer, almost fuzzy around the edges and Lister began to wonder if his eyes were giving up just as his gut had. 

"Anything I can do for you, Rimmer?" he asked in a flat tone, more to break the uneasy silence than any real curiosity. 

"You're out of bed," came the quiet reply, and Lister began to wonder just how long he'd been—not himself. 

He shrugged half-heartedly. "Was hungry," he answered, though the mess on the table and in the bottom of his coffee mug clearly showed that he hadn't eaten much. 

Rimmer had that look about him, the uncomfortable, out-of-place look that he got whenever the ship was threatened or he was confronted with anything resembling feelings. "Good." Rimmer nodded to emphasize his terse reply, but he fidgeted, another sure sign he was nervous. "I was…worried." The fuzzy softness instantly transformed into panic. "Kryten! _Kryten_ was worried about you." 

Lister shifted his full attention to Rimmer, who now had the wide, frantic eyes of being caught in a lie. Playing along as he'd always done, he asked, "Why was _Kryten_ worried about us?" 

Watching Rimmer's panic subside as he seemed to believe his lie was believed had always been a laugh, but now Lister studied him carefully. Relief. It was the only emotion that fit Rimmer's sagged shoulders, yet Lister got the feeling it wasn't only because Rimmer thought he'd accepted the lie. 

That relief was evident as Rimmer enthused upon his lie. However, rather than the expected stern lecturer voice, Rimmer sounded concerned, which matched the darkened eyes and tightness around his mouth. "Kryten has made note of how often you've been staying in bed. Your interest in…anything, frankly, has waned to almost nil. You haven't taken a shift in six days, you barely put on your boots when you stumble out of bed, and it's a rare day when you bother with an actual shirt and trousers. You're not eating anything remotely proper and only guzzling coffee. Not even a lager and curry peak your appetite. Quite honestly, Lister, he thinks you're a mess." 

Feeling more alert than he had in days; _weeks_ , Lister sat up straight and narrowed his eyes, trying to peer closer at Rimmer, who had stayed hovering by the doorway. Feeling his way around Rimmer's very odd behavior, Lister challenged, "Then why hasn't Kryten been in to kick my arse?" 

The smug, self-important look was familiar. "I ordered him to leave you alone. You didn't need someone lecturing you about proper nutrition and motivation to get your sorry arse out of bed." 

Confusion warred with a very strong wondering of _why_. Lister had to keep reminding himself that it was _Rimmer_ who was worried about him, though Kryten had done his fair share of wailing and cajoling over the past few weeks. Where was this concern coming from? Surely Rimmer didn't really care if he got out bed or did his share of shifts. Lister was a space bum; always had been, always would be, and no amount of lecturing or pleading was going to change that. Certainly not the concern shining in Rimmer's eyes, or the way he glanced at Lister's fingers still dusted with crumbs. 

"So," Lister began without any real thought what he was going to say, "You didn't want Kryten to hassle me. What did you expect to do?" 

He watched Rimmer's Adam's apple slowly bob up and down, Rimmer's fingers twitching as he tried to think of another lie. "Me? Why should I do anything?" came the pitiful answer, laden with such guilt and fear that Lister almost took pity on him. 

"Your statement implied that you had a plan to get my sorry arse out of bed without Kryten's interference." Lister's brain chose that moment to remember the gentle caress of fingers at the back of his head. It was so unexpected, so strange, yet so…comforting. Instead of the harsh, mock interrogation he'd planned, his voice dropped to a sotto whisper. "So what was it?" 

"What was what?" Rimmer's voice squeaked as his gaze dropped to the floor and remained there. 

Lister found himself on his feet, walking over to Rimmer apparently rooted to the spot. The green eyes locked onto his, panicked and something else. Anticipation? Regret? He reached up and touched his fingers to the back of Rimmer's head, feeling the softness at the nape of his neck. He should have been surprised that Rimmer allowed the touch, but he'd finally realized what that look had been: starvation. And suddenly, he understood. "Your plan," he murmured as he ran the tips of his fingers back and forth over the gel-free hair, nerves awakening to the sensual feel. Blood raced through his veins, awakening dormant parts of him he'd abandoned for dead. 

"Nirvanah," Rimmer admitted, shocking Lister out of his fugue state. "I've been thinking about her. What I missed—how I'll never be able to remember her properly. There's only the sex." Lister's breath caught in his throat as hands grasped his upper arms gently, but he didn't dare break eye contact. Not with Rimmer's eyes filling with a haunted, familiar pain. "I can remember her sighing my name, but I can't remember how it made me feel. I know her taste and scent, but not how it fired my blood. I remember what it's like to have sex with her twelve different ways, but can't recall a smegging detail about what it _meant_ to me." 

Rimmer's voice was breaking and his hands had tightened on Lister's arms, slowly drawing him closer. Lister held his breath as he dared to reach out with his free hand and place it on Rimmer's waist, releasing the breath slowly as Rimmer didn't seem to mind his touch. 

Rimmer shocked him again with his next statement: "How I feel is how you look. Drifting. Missing something. Half-asleep. It's been hard to accept that I failed in keeping you sane, but it's painfully obvious even to Cat. I've been trying to think of a way to make you feel alive again, to care about getting up in the morning and caring about yourself." 

Rimmer had pulled him close enough that Lister could smell the fear rising along with his body heat. Rimmer was warm, arousal-warm, with wide-blown pupils and quickening breath. Lister didn't want to blink; didn't want to break the spell that had fallen over them. Body alive and tingling, adrenaline rushing, anticipation coiling deep in his gut, he _wanted_. Wanted to make himself whole again. Wanted Rimmer to remember what desire felt like. Wanted to be the one to remind him. 

He slid his arm around Rimmer's waist, closing the slight gap between their chests. He pressed his hips upward, letting Rimmer feel what he felt; watching as his half-fearful, half-pleading eyes closed. 

Neither of them took a breath as Lister closed that final space between them, lightly touching his trembling lips to Rimmer's. His eyes slipped closed as he grew more confident, nipping along Rimmer's lower lip as his hand gently held Rimmer's head in place. 

There wasn't a sound in the room; not their breathing, not the sound of lips parting and coming together. It was as if the vacuum of space had stolen Lister's hearing, letting him concentrate on the minute movements of Rimmer's lips, his jaw, his fingers as they tensed and released on his arms. 

He gasped in a lungful of air as Rimmer drew back abruptly, eagerly meeting the descending mouth with parted lips. His face was captured in two large hands, tilted this way and that as Rimmer took charge of the kiss. _Alive!_ burned through him, setting his nerves on edge and his hands clutching at Rimmer to hold them upright. 

When he was finally released, with a regretful sigh and a steadying hand on his arm, his lungs burned and his legs were shaky. Panting softly, his eyes closed at Rimmer's palm on his cheek, thumb rubbing along his cheekbone. 

"Lister?" A thousand emotions in those two syllables and he wanted the chance to savor each and every one of them. 

"Nothing and everything," Lister said softly, opening his eyes to an incredulous Rimmer. "Nothing will change and everything has changed. You're still a smeghead and I'm still a bum. I never realized how I felt about you but I've always known it would happen. I'm awake, Rimmer. I'm really, truly awake." He felt young again, a spry 23 and just boarding the ship for his tour of the solar system before returning to Earth. Only he didn't need to return to Earth and he didn't need the company of anyone else but those he had called friends on his incredible journey to here and now. "I'm going to shower, then we're going to talk, yeah? And then…" 

He let his voice drift off suggestively, intrigued by the lack of color on Rimmer's cheeks and the lecherous twinkle that crept into his gaze. With one last touch, he turned and headed toward the shower, eager to wash off the last of his lethargy in more ways than one.

"Lister?" He turned back at Rimmer's beckon. His eyebrows rose at the piece of clothing Rimmer was holding out to him. "Put these on. Please." 

With a wicked grin, Lister took his white long johns into the shower with him, wondering what other surprises Rimmer had in store for him. He had not forgotten Rimmer's comment about twelve different ways to have sex. He intended them to break that record, or at least go for a tie break.

The End


End file.
